


Traded to the Witcher

by WeaverOfWords (Fantasy_elf)



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Loss of Virginity, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Smut, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:00:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22316722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantasy_elf/pseuds/WeaverOfWords
Summary: He'd been brought to my small, sparse village to destroy our monster. The exchange was a simple one: One dead creature in return for gold. But what does one do when my father, the leader of our people, cannot afford to pay the amount charged to him? Well, he tries to trade his lovely daughter, my sister, to him, of course, as alternative payment.Only there's a slight problem. The Witcher, the mutant all my people seem to dread and despise, doesn't want her... He wants me instead.18+ Sex, mentions violence and gore and sensitive topics.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 633
Collections: Explicit Stories





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I've not read the books or played the games, I've only watched the Netflix show. So, please be gentle with me and toss a coin to your Witcher, oh valley of plenty....
> 
> Will only include these 2 chapters. It's only a short one-shot, but split into 2 as it ended up being longer than expected. Enjoy!

_ Never trust a Witcher _ , that’s what they all said. From every continent, citadel and dark dwelling, all the whispers echo that to welcome one into your home was to welcome a great calamity upon you and your family. However, as I stood there, lurking in the shadows of the tavern, I couldn’t seem to fathom how much truth those stories held. For there, stood calmly at my father's side was none other than one of those beings that my people most despised...

A Witcher.

Clutching at my worn grey dress and pinafore, I peer around the edge of the doorframe, eyeing our visitor curiously. The man is huge, especially beside my father’s shorter, stouter frame. Muscle upon muscle cause his body to appear more god-like than that of a mere mans. Oh no, he was so much more than that. I could tell by the strange whiteness of his long hair. The eerily golden hue of his eyes that scanned around the area, wary and forever on alert to danger. Features strong and chiselled gave him a harsh and almost cruel look. Studded black leather covers his massive frame and a long shining sword hangs at his side, catching the flickering flames of the fire.

“I don’t like repeating myself, Trevian.” The stranger’s voice is firm, rasping and incredibly deep. “I accept no other payment other than coin. I’ve told you this before.”

“B-but, please. Wait!” My father reaches for the man, clinging to his arm in desperation. His fear is as obvious as the fat mole upon his upper lip.

The stranger stiffens, slowly rotating his pale-haired head to stare at the hand upon his person, lifting a brow. Although he was a man of little words, his action spoke volumes. Realising his folly, my father quickly moves away.

“Forgive me, I meant no disrespect, but you must understand,” my father, Tabolt Trevian, explains carefully, as though trying to reason with a feral dog. “This creature has plagued us for so many moons now. We need your help. My daughter…” He motions towards the shivering feminine figure by the counter. “She is my greatest treasure, but I am willing to sacrifice even her in order to spare my people of this nightmare. I beg you. Accept my offer and give us some peace at last!”

My sister, Freyin, cowers away when the stranger glances towards her. With her long curling chestnut locks and fair complexion, it was no wonder that so many of our men fussed over and favoured her. She was the perfect example of a maiden. Prim and beautiful. Homely and accepted by all. There was no task or skill that she could not accomplish, no fault that she could make in her parent's eyes.

Unlike me...

“You would rely on this  _ mutant scum _ to fight our battles for us?” A lone half-drunk man by the bar spat, sneering in clear hate at our new guest. The Witcher, however, remains ever controlled of himself, staring at him coolly without so much as a flinch.

“Papa, please, I beg you,” Freyin whimpers, wiping at her cheeks as Mama hugs her to her side. My mother glowers at her husband in displeasure, not happy with the arrangement being set. “Do not make do this, I could not bear it.”

“No! I have given my word and honour to this man, Geralt of Rivia,” Father says in determination, slamming his fist down upon the table. “Am I not the master of this family, or no? You will serve this man or so help me god I will--”

I bite my lip, watching the exchange with growing intrigue and angst. For a brief heartbeat, I swear I see the tall stranger rolling his eyes, but then in the next instance it is gone. His face is a mask, seemingly made of stone. Unreadable.

“This is really not necessary,” the Witcher, Geralt, speaks. “As I’ve said, and will say again, I only accept coin as my payment. Nothing more, nothing less. Either respect that or find someone else. The choice is yours.”

And with that, the man turns, striding his massive frame towards the door and leaving through it without so much a backward glance or farewell. A deafening silence ensues as we are all left standing there, stunned.

So this was my fathers great and wondrous plan then? To simply hire the Witcher to fight the beast in the woods in exchange for allowing him to bed his own flesh and blood, his own daughter? What foolishness indeed! It was no wonder my mother was as furious as a brewing storm. Harsh words would be exchanged later between them, I’d bet my last lucky pebble on it.

Something heavy lands on my shoulder and I bite back a shriek of surprise, whirling around to face the person behind me. My brother, Lars, glares down at me with dark brown eyes, ones much similar to my own. His bearded jaw rolls as his lips tighten in anger.

“What are you doing in here, runt?” He growls, wiping his dirty hands on a rag of cloth. “You’re supposed to be doing chores, not slinking around, eavesdropping. This has nothing to do with you, it’s  _ family _ business. Now get back to work.”

_ Family business.  _ I flinch at that. I knew very well that Lars did not see me as his kin. The same went for my mother and father as well. When you have three older brothers and beautiful sister to contend with, it's hard to find a place to belong within an overcrowded household. They hated me because I was  _ simple _ – or so they told me. I had no charms to speak of or show. I had no talent or skills. I barely spoke to anyone, not even to Freyin.

I nod, shrinking my shoulders away from him. His verbal chastising I could handle well enough, It was his tendency to use his fists that was the problem. He certainly had a volatile temper at times.

Needing no further encouragement, I slide away and rush through the side door and out into the yard. Once there, I take in a deep breath of the crisp, cool evening air. I lift my faded dress a little, dodging by a particularly muddy puddle. The thick braid of my dark hair swings against my back as I head for the bucket of pig feed. The sows shriek in welcome as I approach, eager for their dinner. I pour it out to them over the wooden slatted fence and pause there. I catch a glimpse of myself in the water trough, taking in the thin and pale foreign visage that was my own face. Dull brown eyes stare back at me. A nose, a little too large, sits above an unsmiling, sombre mouth. They were right, I realised, just as I did most other days when I considered it—there was nothing really special about me at all.

A horse nickers nearby, snapping me from my thoughts. Placing the bucket down, I edge towards the side of the tavern, hovering at the entrance to the stables. The smell of manure and animal sweat hits me hard. I recognise the two large ploughing horses that my father owned for the farm, but the third one is a newcomer amongst the small herd. I step closer to the rear stall, taking in the dark bay horse locked within. Large eyes blink back at me, surrounded by feathery long lashes. Its tail swishes a little in greeting before it lowers its majestic head to forage at the hay again.

A smile stretches across my lips. The beast appears friendly enough and has a beautiful shiny sheen to its coat and mane, as though it is greatly cared for by its owner. Was this the Witcher’s horse, perhaps? My mind flies back to the morning hours of the day, recalling the stable hands chattering about the  _ mutant  _ and his devil steed called Roach.

_ Roach. _ I chuckle a little at that. What an odd name to call a horse.

“Hello there,” I whisper in a coo, stepping closer to lean against the stall door. “You’re a handsome fellow, aren’t you.” My voice is so light, I barely even hear my own words. I hated speaking to people, but animals were completely different. They did not ridicule and judge me like men did. I found it a welcome reprieve.

The stallion trots forward, just as curious about me as I am of him. My hand reaches out, brushing gently against his curving, smooth forehead. My other hand delves into my pinafore, pulling out a ripe, red apple. I was planning to save it for supper later, but...

“Here,” I say, offering it out to my new four-hoofed friend. “Shh, it’s the last one, but I’m sure Mama won’t notice it missing.” I pat him again softly, listening to him crunch away on his treat. “It’ll be our little secret.”

“You shouldn’t spoil him.” A deep, rumbling voice speaks from behind me.

I whirl with a gasp, quickly darting to half-hide behind the side of the stall. My wide eyes slam straight onto the towering figure of the Witcher. Gods above, how was it possible that a man could be that tall? Seeing him from a distance had been one thing, but this close he was downright terrifying. His massive frame swallows up the space, filling it with his ominous presence. He spares me another quick glance with those flaming golden eyes of his before reaching down for one of the saddlebags, searching through its compartments for something.

I hunker further into the shadows, eyeing him carefully.

“Don’t be afraid, girl. I won’t bite you.”

I say nothing. My entire body clamps tight, sensing some unknown threat from him. They say that people like him delved in the blackest of magic, crafting potions and even corrupting their souls in order to obtain strength and power. Torn, I didn’t know whether I wanted to run away or stay to watch such a terrible spectacle for myself.

My eyes slide over him, taking in him from head to toe. He’s built like a mountain, like a true warrior of old. His white hair is like moonlight, an impossible shade. Up close now, I can see the plains of his face are slightly weathered but undeniably strong. His chin is proud with a cleft at its centre. And his eyes…are looking right back at mine.

Embarrassed at being caught gawping, I duck away, hiding my flushing face against a wooden post. The silence between us is deafening, throbbing like a tangible current upon the air.

My salvation comes in the form of footsteps moving into the stables. The wide and portly shape of one of the older stable hands, Joe, hovers at the entrance. He casts a long look between the two of us with clear suspicion.

“What’s this?” His grey gaze slices into me. “You know you’re not supposed to be in here, Lillia. That brother of yours won't be too happy if he finds out you've been dallying around.”

I stiffen. Yet despite the scolding, He doesn’t tell me to leave. His scowl softens a little, almost as if in pity, and then he turns to the Witcher.

“Don’t mind her, Lad.” Ol’ Joe says. “I hope she’s not been causing you too much trouble?”

The Witcher's head tilts a little. “Not at all.”

“She’s one of Trevian’s girls. She doesn’t speak none, she’s what you’d call  _ troubled _ . Ya know, up there...” Joe explains, tapping at his temple pointedly.

I lower my head as a mixture of shame and hurt tightens within my chest. I focus on the wooden plank in front of me, trying to filter out and ignore what he’d just said. None of it was true. I could speak. They just didn't care to listen.

“Is that so,” The Witcher’s hums and I sneak a peek up to him.

I can’t help but be in an awe of his size yet again. There is something about it that makes me feel small and weak in comparison. His harsh handsomeness combined with the brutal strength of his wide body makes me feel uneasy and yet warm. My heartbeat flutters a beat as I take in every inch of his frame. All at once, I am reminded of Freyin and of how desperately she had pleaded to be free from bedding him...

What would that feel like? I wondered quietly. To surrender to a male such as he. My belly clenches at the idea, curling with some unknown heat. I’d never lain with a man before. In fact, I’d never even been kissed. So then why was I suddenly imagining myself being pinned under this handsome stranger? Being taken.  _ Fucked _ , even.

I blink, yanked to attention by the feeling of eyes upon my face. Joe is chatting aimlessly at the brooding Witcher, but the other male's inhuman eyes are observing me quietly. I sense something shift in his countenance. His shoulders straighten just the slightest as his large chest expands, nostrils flaring gently to inhale the air, as though scenting it.

My cheeks flame. I swallow thickly and take a step further back into the corner. Did he know? Could he read minds as well? I desperately hoped not.

Someone shouts for Joe in the distance and he gives a yell in return, suddenly rushing out of the area, leaving Witcher and me alone in the stable, yet again. I yearn to follow after him and make my escape, but my feet are firmly rooted to the ground.

“So...” Geralt speaks finally, shattering the awkward stillness. He rotates fully towards me, lifting an ashen brow. “You are of Trevian’s kin?”

I nod.

He stares long and hard at me before speaking again. “I know you can speak, I heard you.” He crosses his arms with a sigh. “Your secret is safe with me.”

I nibble on my lip, uncertain. I peer around the area, just to make sure we are truly alone.

“I am Lillia.” It comes out like a shuddering whisper. “I am my fathers youngest.”

He nods but says nothing in reply.

Feeling somewhat braver, I take a step closer to him. “Will you stay?” I shuffle my feet when I realise how much of an invitation my words sounded. “I mean… that is…” I choose my next ones more carefully. “Our village has been tormented by the creature in the forest for years now. Even our healers are struggling to keep up with the casualties and I fear that...” My eyelashes flicker nervously, not used to expressing my mind so freely to someone. “I fear that if you cannot help us, no one will be able to. You are our only hope.”

Was it my imagination or did I almost see him roll his eyes again. Clearly, he didn’t agree with my sentiments.

“I am not here to be a saviour or shining knight,” he says in a deep grumble. “Nor do I have any intention of playing the hero.”

“And yet, here you are,” I say tentatively, peering at him shyly. “For a non-hero, you’re very kind to come this far to listen to what my father has to say, even when the others fear you so greatly.”

“Yes.” His strong jaw shifts in thought as he inhales again. “But you don’t.”

“I do not what?”

“You don’t fear me.”

Didn’t I? I pause at that, considering it. Truth be told, I did feel something towards him. A fear, of sorts. But not the kind that warned of an impending doom or potential danger. No. The unsettling warmth curling in my belly told of a different type of threat. Not of one of control or malice, but of vulnerability. I felt so small and weak compared to him. So decidedly feminine.

“I… do not know,” I admit the half-lie with a shiver.

“You’re curious,” he continues, never once looking away. “I can smell that much, at least.”

He can _ smell _ me? Burning hotter, I shift awkwardly, tangling my fingers into the folds of my skirts. Perhaps he really was part beast, after all. With the acute senses of one as well.

“Tell me about the Kikimore,” he asks suddenly.

I frown at him. “The what?”

He sighs, leaning further back with a scowl. “The Kikimore. The creature in the forest that is attacking your people.”

I stiffen, not wishing to answer. Why was he even asking me about such things? I was only a young woman and should not be involved in such matters. “My father has already spoken to you about it...”

“Yes, but I’m asking you,” he grinds out, reading my every expression. “Some Kikimore live in nests, whereas others can be solitary and singular, but very rarely do they ever dare venture in the lands of men.” His eyes narrow at me, stabbing deep, seeking answers. “Which leaves me thinking that your father wasn’t being completely honest with me regarding their regular visits to the town.”

I lower my face, uncertain of how to respond. “I do not know what to say.”

“Say the truth _ , Lillia. _ ”

My heart leaps at the soft use of my name. Never before had I heard someone say it so gently.

I nod, straightening somewhat. If our village intended to be rid of the creature we would need Geralt’s help. He had to know everything.

“One night, nearly two winters ago, my brother and his friends ventured out into the woods to hunt for deer,” I began carefully. “They wandered too far, past our forbidden borders, and found a swamp where the creature resided. They attacked it, seeking to trade its body parts for gold, but it was too strong for them. Two were killed and the others, including my brother, tried to flee the creature's wrath.” I take a moment, preparing myself for the rest of the horrifying tale. “It followed them back to the village, destroying everything in its wake. No one has been able to kill it and ever since then the creature has been returning.”

“It’s angry.” Geralt declares matter of factly. “It’s craving vengeance.”

I lick at my slightly dry lips, taken aback by the knowledge that this was the most I’d ever spoken to someone in months, if not years.

“It is why my father is so desperate to have your help,” I explain further. “He’s willing to do anything to right the wrongs my brother has caused to our people. Surely you understand that?”

“I do.” He nods. “But I am not going to take an unwilling, terrified woman to--”

“My sister meant no disrespect in rejecting you, Sir. Please know that,” I cut in, feeling some urgent need to reassure him. “Her heart belongs to the Blacksmith's son, Zarin. They have been childhood sweethearts since they were little and I know, deep down, that the thought of lying with any other man would have been torture for her.”

I don't know why I am defending my sister so strongly. Part of me reasons that it is because I am a little protective of her, yet another part of me wants to heal any offences made towards this man. I wanted him to know that it wasn’t because he’s a Witcher that he was refused or that he was undesired. Truth be told, I cared for neither facts. He was still remarkable in my view.

“People should not be traded like cattle,” he states calmly. “I wouldn’t have accepted her or anyone else in that way. It’s wrong.”

“Never?” I ask timidly, a strange twinge forming in my chest. I try to force it away but it lingers, throbbing steadily into existence. A yearning need to be accepted, followed by the plummeting disappointment that he’d probably never even consider me as a potential option.

There is a long drawn out pause and then he answers. “No. Never.”

I nod, chewing on my bottom lip. No, of course he wouldn't. I wasn’t anything special. It had been foolish of me to consider such an idea.

“Would you?”

My head snaps up to him. I frown, taken aback by the question. “Would I what?”

His focus remains steady on me, never once faltering. “If the tables were reversed, would you have taken another into your bed as payment for a service?”

I consider the idea, finding it at first a revolting notion. But then I imagine being offered the man standing before me as a prize and all at once a wave of delicious heat pools between my thighs. My scalp tingles and my legs start to tremble with some foreign lick of excitement.

“I...” I stammer for a response. “No, of course not. That would be an awful thing to do. Yes?”

I hear him inhale the air, once again scenting it. His boots creak against the hay-littered floor as he moves closer. Within a heartbeat he’s standing right before me, leaning over me like a towering ancient tree. His flaming gold eyes stare unblinkingly. Delving. Knowing something that I do not. He smells of leather and musk, something decidedly masculine.

“Oi!”

I jump as a voice shouts from nearby. We both pivot to see my brother, Lars, watching us.

“What are you up to? I told you to get back to work, runt,” he snarls at me. “Don’t make me tell you again, lest you want to feel the back of my hand.”

Slapped back into reality by the threat, I slink away, rushing towards the doorway. I don’t look back, but I can feel eyes following after me. I make it halfway through the door when I hear their voices speaking to one another.

“You’re still here.” It sounded almost accusing.

“Yeah. About that...” The Witcher says just as I step across the threshold back into the yard. “I’ll defeat your monster for you...” His next words send a shard of pain knifing through my chest. “...and I’ll also accept your father's offer. Consider it a deal.”

So I had been wrong, he had wanted my sister after all. I should have been pleased at his sudden change of heart, yet I could not find any relief or joy in it at all. I'd allowed myself to dream of silly and impossible things...

I'm such a fool.


	2. Chapter 2

It takes only a full day and half the morning until the Witcher returns; a magnificent spectacle to behold indeed. The whole village comes forward, following Geralt’s horse down the worn trodden road between our humble houses, oo-ing and aah-ing in awe. Parts of the kikimore’s corpse dangles across the back of his steed as evidence to his victory. Blood, mud and black gore smears his dark armour. His face his stern, fixed in a stony expression as he draws his horse to a stop. His bright lethal eyes stab down at my father, who is standing amongst the crowd with my brother and mother.

With one swift movement, he slices at the rope tying down his hunt and lets the body slide to the ground with a thud. The throng of bodies rears back, only to then step closer in almost morbid curiosity. A hum of whispering rises, echoing throughout the air.

“Here it is,” Geralt says coolly. “Your beast, captured and killed.”

I hover at the corner of the tavern, keeping to the shadows and watching the exchange with bated breath. I balance the basket of eggs in my arms higher against my hip. My hands are sore from the long hours of washing the linens but I ignore their sting. As soon as I’d heard of the Witcher's return, I’d rushed to try and catch a glimpse of him, half-expecting him to have returned empty-handed.

How very wrong I had been.

A chant of cheers and claps rise in crescendo, battering against my eardrums.

“Three cheers for the monster hunter, Geralt of Rivia!” After the crowd sings their pleasure, my father steps forward with a huge smile of relief across his weathered, bearded face. “We owe you so much, Witcher.”

The Witcher slides with ease down from his horse and my father tries to usher him towards the doorway to the Tavern.

“Come. You must come and celebrate with us,” he declares loudly for all to hear, spinning towards his wife behind him. “Hurry now, my dear. Fetch our finest wine, we must--!”

“I have no need for wine.” Geralt’s gravelly voice cuts through the cheery atmosphere like a knife, drawing everyone to abrupt stillness. “Save your gratitude. I have upheld my end of the bargain and now it is time to keep yours.”

I hear a wail of despair from somewhere and recognise it instantly as belonging to my sister, Freyin.

“No, please, Mama. Do not allow this to happen! I’ll do anything!”

My father squares his shoulders, his expression firm. “Nay, daughter. An oath is an oath. You will hold your tongue and obey me in this. Come...” He gestures for her to come forward. I can’t see her small frame amongst the mass but I know she’s there, probably falling to pieces at my mother’s side. “Go to him.”

“Nay! I will not!”

“You will not dishonour me! Do as you are told!”

I can’t bear to watch the scene unfolding before me much longer. A strange acidic burn rolls through my belly and I lower my eyes to the floor, a sense of emptiness settling over me. I shouldn't be here, I thought glumly to myself. I had chores to do and father would not be pleased if I tarried for too long. It would be a distraction, at least.

I start to move away, intending to return to the chickens and collect more eggs for breakfast tomorrow.

“Not so fast, Trevian.” Geralt speaks, and though my back is now facing him, his voice reaches me with ease, sliding across my ears.

I pause. My feet glue themselves to the ground, unable to move.

“What?” My father stammers in panic. “But our bargain…?”

“Will be upheld, yes.”

My father scoffs. “I have already told you, I have no coin to offer to you for the service you have done for us today. I have little enough as it is and my family would--”

“I don’t want your money.”

“Then name your price!” My father declares, on the verge of hysteria. “I have nothing else to offer you!”

“But you do...” The silence that stretches out is like a tangible presence sweeping at the length of my back. For a terrible moment, my heart seizes to beat. And then I hear him speak... “I want _ her. _ ”

The air around me moves. Suddenly I can feel many pairs of eyes on my person. Uncertain and curious, I slowly turn, only to find the entire crowd staring at me. My father’s face is a mask of horror. My mother is clutching Freyin against her side and shaking her head in astonishment.

The Witcher’s large, armour-clad arm is lifted, his black-gloved gauntlet pointed directly at me. His expression is unfathomable, seemingly carved from steel and granite. His eyes, like marbles of molten yellow, stand out in stark contrast against his inhumanly pale skin.

I almost drop my basket in surprise, completely floored by what he’d just said, with what he was now doing. He was trying to choose his own prize and he wanted….

_ Me? _

“You can’t be serious!” My father says in aghast, almost choking on his roar of laughter. “No sane man would touch that girl. She’s an imbecile!”

“You’d be better with a sack of potatoes.” A male jeers from the crowd and the others burst into laughter at my expense.

My chin drops, wounded by the insults. I look away, unable to bear the weight of their judgement.

“See some sense, man,” my father says, wiping at his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. “I will not allow this.”

“Will you not?”

The atmosphere died then in an instant, crushed by the Witcher's deadly cold tone. It wasn’t exactly a question for permission, but rather a cool threat. He was challenging my kin, I could see it as plain as day. Daring them all to refuse his claim for me. He’d done as requested. He had every right to ask for whatever he desired, and much more besides.

“You would reject my beloved, beautiful daughter for this wretch?” Tabolt gestures towards me with a harsh sweep of his arm. “You insult me, Sir. And you insult my family! She is nothing but a --”

Steel hisses, singing through the air. I catch the flash of a silver blade as it arches through the air, drawn smoothly from its sheath with such swiftness that I almost miss the movement. A hum of frightened gasps erupts around us. One moment my father is standing there, as composed and confident as a king. And in the next, he is a quivering mess with a deadly-looking sword placed against the length of his throat. His hands fly up in surprise of the attack. His eyes widen, almost bulging from their sockets in fear.

“Come now, husband,” my mother beseeches. “See reason. If he wants the child then let him have her. What difference does it make? The deed will be complete.”

I wince at her unfeeling comments, somewhat wounded. I fix my focus upon the Witcher, watching him curiously. Was he in earnest? I wondered with growing angst. I should have been like Freyin, screaming and pleading to be free of such a transaction. Yet my heart was bounding hard within my chest. My mind was whirling at the prospect that this gorgeous man might actually want to lay with me.

“Very well. It is as you say, I agree.” Tabolt Trevian declares with what little of his pride that remained. The blade at his neck drops and is slid back into its holder. My father slumps slightly in relief. “Take her… I care not.”

Heavy footsteps thump their way towards the tavern door. A huge male shape pauses at the threshold and I lift my face towards the Witcher whose head slowly turns towards me. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t command me to go to him, yet something is lurking within the depths of his eyes. A subtle yet raw invitation.

Without further ado, he bends, stalking into the narrow entrance. The crowd is watching me as if I am some kind of freakish novelty that they've never seen before. I cannot refuse what is about to happen. I have no say in any of it. My limbs start to tremble and not entirely from dread either. Heart pounding, I drop my basket carefully to the ground and begin to follow after him.

* * *

I sit on the bed, clutching at my dress for dear life. My pulse is roaring within my ears. My entire face is burning as my eyes dance around the scantily furnished room my parents have offered to us for the night for our… _ joining. _

However,  _ this _ … I hadn’t been expecting this to happen at all.

Water splashes loudly, shattering the silence of the room. Candles flicker and the fireplace crackles, casting the area in soothing heat. Steam plumes up gently from the large copper tub before the hearth and the hulking male body seated within it shifts. I quickly look away, not daring to look too closely at him. Earlier, whilst he had been undressing, I had caught a brief glimpse of broad, strong shoulders and narrow hips. And… ahem,  _ other things. _

“You act as though you’ve never seen a naked man before.” His voice drifts to me, almost teasing.

“That’s because I haven’t,” I squeak out, folding further into myself.

Geralt's head turns a little, his masculine profile showing itself to me as he lifts a thick brow. “Never? You are a virgin?”

“Aye.” I breathe, my face flaming even hotter. Great deities above, how was I going to get through this without making myself look like a damned fool? “I have only ever seen some of the men swimming in the rivers, but none of them have ever...” I force the words out with a rasp. “… touched me.”

Goodness, I was so nervous. All of my earlier excitement was now squashed under the weight of my sudden reality. I was expected to bed this man, this being who wasn’t even fully a human. There was no denying that he was the most handsome man I’d ever seen in my entire existence. But there was something dangerous about him. He was so large and I was so small in comparison. And his male flesh, from what little I had seen of it, would surely cause some discomfort. I only hoped he would endeavour to be patient with me. After all, he was in no way obliged to think of my comfort during this night. It was all purely for his benefit. His reward for helping us.

“I see.” Was he pleased by this? I couldn’t tell. He was so difficult to read.

Clasping my hands tight, I shift, preparing to ask the one question that has been beating at me for the last hour or so.

“Why?” I say, finally daring to slide my gaze towards him. I stare at his back. Scars litter his moonlight skin, no doubt a sign of his brutal strength and the hardships he’d survived.

“Why?” He echoes.

“Why did you change your mind?” I ask. “You had every intention of walking away from us, I know it. Yet you stayed.” I lean forward slightly, eager to hear his reply. “Why did you choose me? The arrangement had been made for my sister to come to you tonight, not I. Surely she would have been more pleasing for you...”

Geralt sighs, rubbing at one of his thick biceps as if pained by a twisted muscle. “Sure, and without a doubt, she’d have been screaming in my ear all evening,” he mutters with stoic sarcasm. “Perhaps even throwing herself from one of these very windows in an attempt to free herself from me. I call that a ‘ _ no thanks’. _ ”

My lips quirk a little. Well, it seemed he had a sense of humour, at least.

“Who knows, maybe I’ll do the same,” I tease lightly, not at all meaning it.

The silence that follows wraps around my being like a shroud. Although I can no longer see his face now, there is a certain tension in him that made me wonder if that had been the wrong thing to say.

“Come here.”

My heart jumps at the firm command. Nervous, I rise from the bed.

“Bring the wine with you.”

Obediently, I head for the table nearby and pour some of the ruby liquid into a goblet and then wander over towards him. He’s completely bared as a newborn babe, leaving nothing to the imagination. I keep my focus downcast, holding out the drink for him to take. His fingers reach for the stem, brushing ever so lightly against mine.

“Sit.”

Sit? But where? On the floor? Uncertain, I kneel beside the tub.

“You ask me why I chose you. But I think, deep down, you already know the answer to that...” His deep yet warm voice drifts against my ear. Even though he’s sat a short distance away I can hear his steady breathing and feel the steam of his bath against my skin. “I didn’t choose you at all, did I? __ You chose me…  _ You want me _ .”

_ You want me. _ The words sink in, stealing the very air from my lungs. Did I? Did I want him? It’s like all my deepest desires and thoughts are being thrown to the surface for all to see. How did he know such things? Had I been that obvious?

He cups some of the water into his wide palms and then splashes it against his wide chest. I sneakily watch him in the corner of my eye, transfixed by the play of his muscles. My mouth goes dry as I observe the glistening droplets rolling down his midriff. Every inch of me wants to reach out and trace their path with my fingers. Perhaps even more...

“I…” I cannot find the right words to speak, they have eluded me completely. I swallow back the thickness in my throat. “You must be mistaken. You are a stranger to me and we only met this morning, so--”

“Scent never lies, Lillia. You’re nervous, but you're not afraid,” he interrupts lightly. I shiver, uneasy at how close to the truth he was getting. “And your arousal is incredibly strong for a human woman. I quite like it.”

By the gods, he speaks so steadily. He doesn't seem to have any problem with discussing such things. Whereas for me, my entire face was burning, thrilled and mortified all at once.

Until something dawns on me...

None of it mattered. Not my pride. Nor the thoughts and judgements of the villagers outside. Not even the unease that seemed insistent upon robbing me of my logic. There would be no walking away from this, no turning back. My body, inexperienced as it was, instinctively knew what it wanted, what it needed.

And it wanted  _ him. _

The whisper comes to my lips, unbidden. “Will you be gentle with me?”

I’m not entirely sure why I ask such a thing. My voice echoes with open invitation. There is no denying the truth of what is passing between us. Why, even a blind man could probably see how much I wanted this man. This Witcher, of all people.

Geralt stands suddenly, rising from the water like some kind of deity bursting out of from the sea to wreak havoc upon the realm of mere mortal man. His masculinity is both beautiful and frightening. In awe, I stare up at him, my neck craning back at his impossible height. He steps out from the tub, decorating the grey stone floor with wet patches. Even his feet are attractive; something that I find even more peculiar.

His eyes hold mine, refusing to let me look away from him. Facing me fully now, his arms start to lift, spreading outward in an open gesture of welcome.

_ I’m yours. Do with me as you please.  _ He doesn’t say it, but I sense the silent message nonetheless.

I uncurl from my kneeling position and take a step nearer. Curious once again. He’s like a mountain standing there and I feel like a tiny pebble in comparison. My eyes drink their fill of his naked length, memorising every curve and slope. The narrow line of his waist. The slender jutting of his hip bones. The tantalising V of his groin and then… the huge thickness of his cock standing erect against his midriff.

Some kind of animalistic spirit has surely possessed my being, as I feel a dangerous hunger throb between my thighs. Moisture gathers there and I squirm, wondering if he can scent that as well. The smoothness of his chest is scattered with soft-looking dark hair. It trails down his flat belly, merging further down towards his sex.

Feeling brave, I begin to step around him, drinking in every detail of his attractive form. He straightens a little, hyper-aware of my perusal. My hand lifts to hover for a heartbeat near the slope of his massive back, tempted to feel him. He stiffens as if sensing me there. I retreat and complete my full circle around him until I am once against stood before him. His chest moves, breathing in deeply. His pale pink nipples are erect and, for some reason, I am entranced at the sight of them.

I look down towards his shaft again and move until I'm inches away from pressing against him. His warmth and musky scent surrounds me in a cocoon of safety and sensual excitement. My blood is roaring, eager to touch him. To taste.

Meeting his gaze, I lift a somewhat shaky hand and trail my fingertips ever so lightly across the tip of his cock. It jerks under me and I catch the hiss that emits through his tightened lips. I smear the tiny bead of his fluid around the incredibly hot skin, all the while watching his every expression. This is my first time touching a man and I have no idea how to please him. I am keen to give him pleasure and to learn. As I pet at him an incredible urge hits me and without thinking twice, I raise my now sticky fingers towards my mouth to taste him. Saltiness hits my tongue as I suckle at them gently, humming in delight.

His golden eyes are burning down at me now, fierce and hungry like a wolf on the hunt. Predatory in their ferocity. His strong calloused fingers find my chin, drawing me to him. He leans forward and without pausing, captures my mouth against his in a gentle but searing kiss.

His lips slowly dance against mine, pressing in as though seeking entrance. With a gasp, I open to him and his wandering tongue slides into the cavern of my mouth, mating against mine.

I whimper, falling against him in surrender. He growls low, his arms snaking around me to pull me further into him. Every single one of my senses is tuned in solely to him.

My hips start to move against him, seeking something that I cannot seem to name. My belly tightens as my pelvis rubs against his, grinding closer in the hopes of relieving some of the ache forming between my thighs. My fingers shyly rise to brush against his jawline. Lost in the fog of sensation, I do not realise my gown has been tugged undone until its roughened fabric glides down my shoulders and torso to puddle against the floor at our feet. I gasp into him with surprise, trying to break away a little, but his hold is like steel, refusing to release me from his kiss. His arm slips further around me until a firm hand settles against the curve of my bared rump. I barely have the ability to breathe let alone think.

All of a sudden his other hand grabs for my right leg and lifts it, pinning it high against his side. I give a muffled yelp, wobbling slightly from the sudden shift in balance. Helpless, I lean further into him, allowing him to take my weight. He does it with ease, not once faltering in his assault against my mouth.

I'm swimming in desire. Burning from the inside out. His hand on my arse dips further down, sliding between my now parted thighs and into my exposed cleft. A thick finger glides with expertise straight towards my throbbing entrance.

“Geralt.” I moan into him, only to be rewarded with a slow teasing swirl against my sensitive bud.

My quim tightens, seeking more, seeking to be filled. I moan, writhing in eagerness and he doesn't make me wait long. Two digits break through the fisted flesh of my cunt and all at once I am bombarded with streaks of pleasure.

“You're so wet.” His deep, growling groan is like an aphrodisiac to my ears. He pulls out and then surges back in with a sure stroke.

“Oh, please!” I beg, riding against his hand.

For what seems like a torturous eternity, I allow him to fondle me, knowing the deepest secrets of my body. He seems to know exactly where to touch, where to stroke, sending me into a whirlwind of pure sensation. As if sensing my growing desperation, he moves faster, dipping in and out, only to then rub against my nub with hard ruthless strokes.

Overwhelmed, I look up and our eyes meet. His are burning bright, searing like molten ash in a fire. No words are needed, there is no time for any. Out of nowhere, a tornado of pleasure rushes over me and I arch back with a scream of delight. My walls clench at him, hot and tight. It’s the most excruciating and wonderful feeling in the world. Addictive, even.

His touch drops away from me, leaving me feeling bereft and empty. But not for long. I barely get the chance to speak when a set of strong arms sweep me up against a muscled chest. With ease, Geralt carries me towards the large bed. He lazily shoulders aside one of the sheer silk drapes and then places me down upon on with such gentleness that my heart sings in longing. He follows me down and the mass of his frame cages over mine. He keeps most of his weight from crushing me but allows me to feel its strength.

His powerful hands spread my thighs, slowly, testing me, waiting for me to push him away. Instead, my hands grip at him, pulling him closer.

I want him. I want this man with every fiber of my being.

Something nudges at the edge of my womanhood, pressing for entry. I gasp as he slides forward, squeezing the bulbous tip of his throbbing cock inside. Panting hard, I try not to flinch with how fiercely he stretches me. It both stings and burns, a delicious pain that has me groaning for more. I peer down, expecting to him fully seated within me. Only he isn’t. Nowhere near at all. I feel filled to the brim, yet the rest of him is still to come. He’s huge.

“Wait,” I gasp, pressing against his chest in panic. “You’re too big. I don’t think it will fit.”

“Trust me, it will.” His rasping purr breathes against the top of my head. “Hold onto me.”

Obeying his wish, I clutch at him as if my life depends on it. Without hesitation, he plunges forward in one clean smooth stroke and I cry out. A sharp pain rips through me, gradually dimming away into a dull ache.

“Easy.” He murmurs, his tone almost regretful. “It is done.”

“It hurts,” I whimper against his shoulder, holding him tight.

He brushes at my hair, offering a soothing caress. “It will fade soon, I promise.”

And with that, he begins to move. I wince in discomfort, but it soon gives way to burning white-hot pleasure. My body knows what to do, even if I do not. It grips at him with tiny spasms, trying to draw him further in. My hips grind and roll. At first, our rhythm is an awkward one, one borne of a hungry need that only our joined flesh could satisfy. A storm is rising within me, climbing toward incredible heights, ready to burst free from my very soul. Mewling cries crawl out of my mouth, sounding animalistic even to my own ears.

“That's it.” He growls, not once faltering in his movements. His next thrust grinds against my swollen nub and I clench hard around him with a long drawn out moan.

His face buries against my throat as he groans. “You feel so good.”

“More,” I plead to him. “Give me more.”

I’m so close. I’m ready to fall apart into the true realm of womanhood.

He shifts and I catch his gaze. The gold of his eyes devours me as something passes between us, unspoken but true. His jaw his tight and every inch of him his poised, fighting against some internal battle that I could not see. And then it hits me…

He's holding back. Restraining himself as if I were a delicate creature made out of glass.

A sense of empowerment rushes over me. Despite all my earlier fears, I wanted him to let go and unleash the full fury of his lust against me. And deep down, even though he fought against it, I knew he wanted to as well.

“Don't.” I lift a hand, smoothing it across his cheek, purring encouragingly. “Don't deny me, Witcher. You know what I need.” I dare to challenge him, making my eagerness clear. “Give me everything.”

His look of doubt is endearing. The line of his brow furrows, uncertain. He shakes his head slowly.

“You are my first,” I explain, leaning up to nibble at the curve of his dimpled chin. He tastes salty and musky, completely male. “And will most probably be my last.”

I needed him to know how much this meant to me. After this, there would be no others to take his place. My heart saddens at the truth of it. No one had wanted me before this and no one would want me afterwards either. This was my time to pretend, to imagine myself as something more to someone. To be someone special.

“Do what you want with me.” It spills out of my mouth as I press my forehead against his slightly dampened chest. “I don’t want to—”

I shriek as the world spins suddenly. Hands flip me over so fast that I bounce for a second, coughing against the pillow. My hips are yanked up. The back of my neck trapped down by a careful yet unforgiving hold. A snarl breathes across my nape as my lover settles against my back, bending over me. I do not even get the chance to gather my senses when his thick shaft plunges in deep, taking me from behind like a bitch in heat. My back arches at the delicious new position. Despite how vulnerable I feel, dizzying sparks of lust race down my spine.

The shy, uncertain Lillia was gone. And in her place was this raw and wild wanton creature I could barely recognise. I’m consumed by pure primal instinct. I need this. I need to be fucked.

I gasp with each pounding thrust that he gives to me. His fingers tangle into my hair, bending me into submission against his taking.

Every savage grunt that comes from his throat is bestial and deep, feral in nature. He shows me no mercy, his stamina breath-taking. So much so, that I can barely keep up with his brutal, abusing pace. I can only lay there, helpless, taking everything he gives to me.

I don't know how it happens, or where it comes from, but a riptide of sheer fire scorches its way through me. My cunt tightens, clamping down fiercely. In delirious panic, I try to wriggle free away from him, but his hold is like a vice, drawing me back to him.

“Geralt!” I scream his name, unable to hold back.

His teeth nip at my nape as he surges forward again and again. “I’m almost there,” he grunts, his thrusts growing shallow. The length of his shaft throbs within me, thickening further. “Spread yourself for me.”

Without even thinking about it, my knees widen against the bed as I angle my hips up. Geralt pistons deep. Once. Twice. And then he bumps against the neck of my womb, pausing there with an almost furious growl.

The moment he starts to jerk within me, I am lost. With a shriek, I follow him into oblivion, surrendering to the waves of sheer bliss. My body clamps around him, spasming. I shudder against the sheets, wringing out every last ebb and throb.

With a grunt, he slumps down beside me onto the bed, pulling me back against his chest. His arms hold me gently and his lips find the slope of my shoulder in a brief kiss. The sheets beneath us dampen as his seed drips out and slides down my thighs. My ears are ringing as I slowly begin to regather my senses.

The cracking of a log in the fireplace makes me startle. The room returns to me, as does harsh reality. I should go. I shouldn’t stay here. The deed was done now and my father’s trade was fulfilled. There was no need to linger and the emptiness of that thought makes my vision swim with tears.

I sit up, intending to leave the bed, only to be abruptly jerked back against solid warmth.

“I need to—”

“Hush.” It’s all he needs to say. His tone is imperative, refusing to be denied.

The blankets are pulled up around our naked bodies, wrapped into a cocoon of safety. Even his smell is a simple joy to my heart, soothing against my turbulent emotions. Leaning in, he inhales against the tangled mess of my hair and I shiver at the intimacy of it.

Was he even aware of how significant this was to me? It was almost too much to bear. A sweet and toxic poison. Tomorrow he would be gone again and my life would return to normalcy. Bleak and empty. Nothing would change.

With that in mind, I snuggle back against him and allow myself to drift away into sleep, with two simple words uttered.

“Thank you.”

* * *

I awake to find myself being rocked. Disorientated, I blink my eyes open only to find the brightness of the sun beating down into my face. The sky overhead is greyed, but nonetheless still pleasant. Birds flit and fly, soaring from one tree branch to another. A strong wind rustles their foliage, but it does not touch me through the shield of heat wrapped around my frame. The solid mass at my back shifts and the horse beneath me nickers softly.

Wait? A horse? I peer down at its bobbing head, eyeing its dark chestnut mane.

_Roach?_

I lift a hand to my face, rubbing it tiredly. I notice then the black woollen cloak around my legs. I’m wearing a nightdress underneath it.

Panic surges. When had I even put it on? Where am I?

“You're awake.” A low voice murmurs against my ear. I squirm around in the saddle to face the man behind me. His arm steadies me with ease.

Gold eyes gleam down at me. His stark white hair is beautiful, almost glowing like moonlight under the rays of the sun.

“Geralt?” I speak, finding my voice.

It all comes rushing back to me then. The Kikimore. His trade with my father. Our long passionate night of--

“What's going on?” I push the thought aside, needing answers. “Where are we going?”

A ghost of smirk flashes across him full mouth. One massive shoulder shrugs, as if the answer is an obvious one.

“I'm kidnapping you,” he says it so calmly, so matter of factly.

“Pardon?” I blink at him and my heart leaps a beat. Was he being serious? Surely he jested.

His gaze is light, trailing across my face, searching me closely for some kind of answer he needed.

“Well,” he sighs, casting a look around the forest in caution. “I figured that considering you were so reluctant to leave my arms this morning, I'd take you with me.”

My mouth falls open, dumbfounded. He chuckles at me, the sound rolling through him and into me.

“Besides,” he continues solemnly. “I doubt your family will even notice you're gone. They will not look for you, that much I can tell. So I thought,  _ why not _ .” He shrugs again, not at all concerned.

Before I can stop myself, I begin to laugh. I couldn't believe his daring. Just like that, he'd swooped me up and stolen me away in the middle of the night like some kind of thief.

Did that mean he meant to keep me then? I grin at him and wrap my arms around his neck, craving to be closer to him. I should be angry at him, demanding to be returned to my home, but I can’t bring myself to do it. In truth, I didn't want to.

At my silence, he looks down at me again and lifts a brow. “Is that all right with you?”

I smile again at him, beaming until my cheeks start to hurt. I’m happier than I’ve even been in a long, long time.

“Aye, it is.”

He nods, saying nothing more. Tightening his hold, nudges his horse along the worn path through the forest and beyond. Into the unknown and the future that awaited ahead, for us both. 

Together.


End file.
